Devotion
by cavaliersmile
Summary: They told her he burned away with the rest of her childhood on the early October night. Tifa struggles to hold on to her memories of the past while navigating the bleak future in the tricky world outside of Nibelheim. AU. Before the events of FFVII.


_A/N: Alternate Universe of the events before FFVII. Specifically when dealing with the relationships between Cloud, Tifa, Aerith, and Zack. I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to leave feedback._

 **Chapter One**

* * *

The bride had been the most beautiful of the season. The slim, spaghetti strap dress lingered in the wake of her promenade down the reception hall on the arm of the strong-jawed groom. Strings of pearls wove throughout the thick braid that hung off her right shoulder, silver jewelry adorned the slender arms, but the princess cut diamond ring set on her left hand outshone any other decoration. Her smile tore at the sides of her face and grew with each passing compliment or nod received throughout the ceremony and into the reception hall. The music swept through the room after their announcement - their first song. A violin rendition of an uplifting melody from pop radio. The couple rode their euphoric wave to the middle of the dance floor, joined hands, wrapped the other arms around one another, and settled into their first dance as husband and wife. The crowd, happy from the amount of free alcohol available, clapped in response. Photographers worked hard to capture the candid smiles and giggles.

Tifa sat in the back, watching from the stem of her champagne. She knew the choreography of the entire scene. She had the bruises on her shin to prove when the groom had been busy at work and the bride needed a dance partner. The new wife didn't stumble over his feet. She moved the way everyone knew she would - like wind on a summer's day. They performed a spin that had the crowd cheering. In spite of herself, she smiled against the rim of her glass. The couple had been right about a live band, as people joined off and began to step onto the floor together. The lone figure in the black dress, sat in her seat near the window and downed the rest of her drink. Her left hand rested against her finished dinner plate, serving more of a warning for any potential dance partners less than a reminder to herself. She waved off the waiter offering to refill her glass. The diamond in the middle of her ring caught the light and shimmered long enough to restart her heart. A shaky breath calmed her nerves.

Her legs itched to stand up and move about the room, but she remained grounded in the covered chair with the gold bow. Her eyes fixed on the twirling and giggling bride that captured the rest of the room's attention. The slum girl and one of the most eligible bachelors in Midgar. The story itself inspired awe and skepticism. It lent itself to either a testimony to the true power of love, or what a girl could do would enough gumption and friends in the right places. Piecing together certain scenes from the day could support either hypotheses - the bride made no attempt to hide her admiration for the gifts lavished by the more affluent guests of the wedding, but there were those still, silent moments from the vows to the reception where she would look for him the way a lost child looked for her parent. She held on close to him throughout the night, but the diamond shone brighter the more she rested her left hand on the crook of his right arm.

The groom didn't attempt to take any attention from his new wife. In fact, the more regard she received; the more confident he grew in his own strides throughout the hall to shake the hands of well wishers and, she assumed, co-workers who came to see the impossible. Him, with his black hair and long, strong body, dancing with the bundle of energy and brilliance in his arms. A married man as of two hours ago. The rumors around him died with their first married kiss - strong, passionate, and familiar. The kiss of someone who knew true love for his recipient. So, like all gossip does, it evolved from him being single because of very harsh gender definitions in marriage to single for so long because of her indecisiveness.

She could have used the rest of the night as a way to test the hypotheses speculated during the two month engagement. She could have also spent the night trying to find her own distraction from the noise and the gold and white color scheme. At least one more drink. However, she knew the truth. The rushed engagement, the desperate fights, the money wasted over minute details.

The woman in black stood up, dropping her wrinkled napkin on her dirty plate and walked through the open doors of the balcony, away from the happy couple. The bile, acerbic like her thoughts, pooled in her mouth when she felt the warm night air on her exposed skin. She crossed her arms in response. Of course they'd get married on the most gorgeous night of the year. The clouds even moved enough to show a crescent moon in the middle of the sky.

People lingered outside with her, cigarettes in hand and sleeves rolled to the elbow. She rested her leg on the bottom of the railing of the balcony. The slit of her dress opened from the movement. She tilted her head back when wind blew through, her hair billowing around her shoulders. The thought came again, sprouting through the bottom of her brain. An intense desire to soar through the air to whatever may meet her at the bottom of the building.

"Thinking again?" The idea left with the wind and the voice broke the thick air. She turned around to see the intruder. She smiled at the timing.

"I needed some air." Placing her feet together and moving her clasped arms lower across her belly.

"Looked more than that." The two women stood beside each other, staring out on the city before them. The wind caught pieces of the visitor's hair that wasn't bound by her chignon. The graying locks looked elegant and the color of her dress suit matched her eyes.

"She makes a beautiful bride," The younger woman said, studying the ruffles at the end of the blue skirt beside her.

"She does," A look away and then a sigh. "I was hoping you would wear something other than black, Tifa."

Tifa felt her mouth settle into a hard line. Illuminated only by the moon and the fairy lights adorning the balcony, she turned away.

"I don't have anything else that's as nice."

"You and I both know that's not true." Elmyra's voice pierced through more than the air. Tifa sighed and moved her arms to her hips. "There are plenty of eligible-" Tifa held up a hand. When she turned to face Elmyra, she saw the eyes fixate on the small piece of jewelry adorning her fourth finger. She placed her hands back on her hips and took a deep breath.

"It's not fair." She whispered, looking back over the skyline. She heard steps approaching her.

"I know." Tifa found it hard to look Elmyra in the eyes. The color, while not exact, still made her skin stand still. As if sensing the trepidation from the words, Elmyra reached into her pocket and placed a piece of cardboard in Tifa's hand. "Here, take the driver home tonight. Leave right now, and I'll make your excuses."

"No." Tifa tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and fixated her gaze at the hand on top of hers. "No. Elmyra, I should stay. I need to-"

"You need rest. This was a lot for you." Her hand felt so good cradled in Elmyra's. The first instance of touch she'd felt in a very long while. Sensing Tifa's next worry, the woman patted the hands. "Don't worry about me. I can get another way home."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course, it's not like I'm the mother of the bride or anything."

"And your son-in-law is rich."

"Convenient, no?"

Their shared laughter broke the stiffness. Tifa grasped the valet card and started back into the throng of celebrations. Slipping out of the building and into the sleek car took less time than she'd anticipated.

* * *

It had been the groom's idea to rent a hotel room in the same sector as the reception hall. The week before the wedding, the bride's support system shared three rooms side by side with the privacy doors open. The mini-bar, room service, and pay-per-view television had all been covered on his credit card. Given the Saturday night traffic and Tifa's overall reluctance to step out of the car, the ride took fifteen minutes. She had to admit - this was a much better alternative to the hour or more commute on the train. Plus there were no monsters.

She pushed her key card into the elevator and pressed the button for her floor. She studied her reflection in the gold encased doors. The thigh high slit of her dress, the gleam to her hair. It's a wonder she managed the way she had. Her feet throbbed from the heels and the mascara irritated her eyes. Once inside her hotel room, the privacy door locked, she stripped and showered, rubbing off the makeup and running the water so hot that her skin turned red. She scrubbed every inch of flesh with the hotel soap. Her hair had the same punishment inflicted on it, but with the rationed portion of evergreen scented shampoo she refused to throw away.

Wrapped in one of the pristine white towels, Tifa sat on the edge of the king sized bed and wished that she could cry. The tears had ran out so long ago that the only thing she could do was dry heave. Instead, she reached for the mini-refrigerator and pulled one of the restocked bottles of merlot. Drinking straight from the bottle, sprawled out on the floor, she grabbed the day's newspaper sitting at the foot of her bed and flipped through the pages. She avoided the society section - especially the center article about the Wedding of the Year and the two smiling faces in the picture. Instead, she read the speculative articles about the new pieces of technology Shinra, Inc. would unveil in the next coming months, what they would cost, and if they were worth the investment. As she read, she guzzled down the second mini bottle of wine and half the third. When her eyes began to droop she checked the obituaries, just to see if the newspaper named anyone else she might know.

She climbed into the sheets and left the paper sprawled on the floor. She had this room for one more day, she planned on enjoying not picking up after herself to its fullest. She burrowed into the sheets and discarded her towel. Moving to the middle of the bed, she stacked the pillows and fanned her damp hair out to one side. While she waited for sleep, she let her mind wander to the forbidden places.

Yes, the wedding was beautiful and perfect for anyone who liked the pomp and circumstance of Upper Plate weddings. However, Tifa could think of one wedding more beautiful than the one she witnessed earlier in the evening. A simpler wedding. One in the slums, where the bride wore her mother's hand-me-down dress and a flower crown. A wedding where they all danced to whatever radio signal could patch through the broken roof of that church. She carried hydrangeas instead of orchids. Her reception featured food her mother cooked and the rest of the party could scrounge together. There was more laughter there. More smiles. The group had been smaller, but everyone looked on that couple with love in their eyes and hope in their hearts. No speculation and gossip lingered between the voices.

Tifa turned on her side and hugged a pillow closer to her. The evergreen scent from her shampoo overwhelming the sheets. That day had been a repressed memory for the last two months. Because, whenever Tifa made the comparisons with that halcyon marriage, they were easy and unfair. Gold digger or not, the bride tonight had gained a lot from this match. Not including the penthouse and enough gil to travel first class for the rest of her life; no, she had secured the one thing every girl living in the slums wants: protection.

Aerith Gainsborough had won.


End file.
